


Lupus Matris

by Sami714



Category: Spartacus: Blood and Sand
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 19:17:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sami714/pseuds/Sami714
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucretia travels to Rome to be blessed during Lupercalia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lupus Matris

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hauntedd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedd/gifts).



> written for hauntedd for the occasion of Yuletide. I hope you enjoyed it and that it fulfilled your yuletide hopes.

Fog and damp seemed to chase them from Capua to Rome as the cart's wheels creaked through the muck and mire on the stone road. Rain had long since soaked through her woolen hood to her hair. Bouncing on the wooden seat, she could only hold herself straight up as she had begun bruising along her spine since Aesernia and by Ardea, bumping against the wooden back had become intolerable. The feather pillow given to her by Quintus as a thoughtful gift had been sodden by the first unexpected downpour. Lucretia's mood had blackened accordingly. Naevia and the other slaves kept their eyes lowered and mouths shut with great submissive determination as they desired to blend into the damp background. Clutching her belly, Lucretia shivered but held her peace as she watched the sunlight spread across the wet countryside. Not even a day until Rome, she told herself, then she would be properly tended to inside her sister's house with a warm bath and skilled slaves to bring the color back to her cheeks and oil her feet. Then it will be Lupercalia. The Gods will bless you, she told herself, they must.

Leaning back against the marble, Lucretia forced herself to look ahead and willed the hot water to ease her tense muscles and awakened jealousies.

Her sister's swollen and upturned belly seemed to taunt her as they reclined in the baths. Lydia looked luminous in her fertile glow as she nibbled on grapes and ordered a slave to rub her shoulders.

Lucretia's speech faltered in the middle of her tale of the journey. Surely, this child would be a boy just like the rest of Lydia's brood. She wondered how one sister could be so untouched by Ceres and another so blessed.

Lydia took her hand, “Does it grieve you to see me so?” For once, her older sister kept a edge out of her tone.

She shook her head. “Only a wistful envy stills my tongue. Fortuna is good to bless you and Lucius.”

“My heart gladdens to hear it so.” Lydia smiled, nodding, dark locks trailing into the water over her shoulders. “Our words have been daggers many times, but my sister, I do vex myself with worry for you.” Her voice lowered to soften her blunt speech rolling off a tongue sharpened by habit. “Has your little husband ever gotten a bastard off even one of the slaves?”

Lucretia bit her lip and shook her head.

“Then it isn't you, sister.” Lydia clapped her hands. “He should be the one slapped with a bloody goat thong.” She giggled at her own joke. “This is marvelous, now you can divorce that tiny lanista. Our brother couldn't stop you from Sicily especially with father gone.”

“Never could I. Those girlish wishes that we whispered about husbands together so long ago...” Lucretia sighed. “One so blessed by Juno with so many sons and so respected a station may not understand but I know myself to be lucky to have such a man despite it all.”

“Release your burdens, sister. With Lucius' help, a good match could be found.” Lydia's brown eyes widened and strong brows furrowed from confusion.

“You speak of matches, but sister, I have never borne fruit myself. Remember?” Lucretia had never forgotten when her father had found her in bed with the new comely youth that had come off the fields to the villa. Not yet fifteen, she had screamed when her father dragged her by her hair away from the illicit embrace and cried when the slave was hung. Her father watched her like a dog after a rat for six moons, mercifully neglecting to tell her mother, until the winter's day came when her father jabbed her belly with thin fingers and pronounced her either a lucky girl or a barren one. He had pawned her off on the house of Batiatus when Titus declined a dowry for the sake of the respectability that such a marriage would bring to his son. The cold disappointment in her father's eyes still stung. Then after risking it all on Crixus, not even the seed of a champion could find life inside her. She and Quintus were as mules yoked in matrimony. “Quintus won't forsake me. Such can't be said for all men.”

“A horrible truth to be sure. Just last spring the Edile's brother divorced his wife for want of a child. And we all know that our dear brother wouldn't lift a jeweled finger for any of his sisters besides baby Livia. Even married her to the governor back home.” Lydia nodded and chewed on a grape, the specter of gloom and envy on her silly features, as she mused for but a moment before decision bloomed on her face. “My sensible little sister, I pity and admire you. I'll make sure that a lamb is sacrificed to Juno in your honor.” She snapped her fingers and told her slave. “Wine.”

All the muddy streets leading to Palatine Hill, where Rome founders had been suckled in the cave of the Lupa, were lined with women despite the rain. It seemed as if from every corner of the city and beyond, women had came, from rich governor's wives from the Eastern provinces carried in silks to rough fish mongers that waited on the outskirts. Lydia's status afforded them a respectable spot halfway up the hill but they still had to elbow through most of the merchant wives of the city. Most didn't hesitate to elbow back. Still early in the morning, Lucretia shivered in the shadow of marble as she watched the best of Rome's women be carried past in the drizzle.

Lydia's slaves had laid down braided reed mats over the muddy cobblestone and held up umbrellas when the sisters secured their rightful place in the front. Lydia whispered the names and the best rumors about the ladies going up the hill to the plaza around the Lupercal where Romulus and Remus were suckled by a she-wolf. The women followed an hour behind the naked magisters and the two nude youths herding the goats and a dog up the Palatine Hill. Lucretia knew that they would feast and then the youths would be anointed with blood and milk which they shall greet with a laugh for the blood of wolves still ran through the hearts of every Roman, according to her sister. Lydia had less to say about the men themselves but for critiques on their manhood, though her knowledge flowed like the Tiber on even the most obscure Equestrian matron.

Lyre music drifted down the hill all morning but by the time that the sun was almost overhead, drummers and trumpeters began. Lydia had jumped, formerly dozing on Lucretia's shoulder, in surprise. “The feast is done?”

Lucretia stared down the hill at the last noblewoman, curtained and lifted in a large palanquin by six slaves making rapid speed. Draped in midnight damask with inner curtains of sheer sky blue silk, it was made of Egyptian teak, expensive and expansive, it would fit three women easily. Bronze discs on the top of the four posts gleamed in the sun. Lucretia would have recognize those family symbols anywhere. It was Ilithyia.

“Tardy Ilithyia finally arrives. Boldest friend of Lucina and daughter of Senator Albinus. I already told you about Lucina, Marcus Crassus' cousin who I know personally though a friend of a friend...” Lydia droned on.

Lucretia let her mind wander on whatever Ilithyia might be scheming in Rome. Her dear friend always had a plot churning around in her quick, if petty, mind so deftly disguised by her blond hair and shamelessly low necklines. Lucretia had almost missed her.

“Her husband Glaber is a supposed cowardly opportunist but he does cut a fine figure in a uniform. Those calves, by Mars himself, I have to say...”

Ilithyia peeked at the masses through a crack in the silk curtains. She grinned when she saw Lucretia.   
Her slaves stopped in front of the sisters. A slender handmaiden walked up to the palanquin and flicked open the curtains. Ilithyia reclined on a beige pillow, arms bare despite the modest blue gown she wore, sheer gray veil over her curled loose hair. “Lucretia, I never thought I would see you in Rome.” She sat up and smiled. “You must understand you don't belong here.”

Lucretia lowered her eyes, preparing to grit her teeth and bare another barb, until Ilithyia spoke again.

“Hop in, we're almost late.” Ilithyia put her hands on her hips.

“And my sister?” Lucretia gestured to Lydia who had puffed up and straightened her back.

Ilithyia giggled. “How rich, Lucretia. Too amusing, Come on, darling, all with eyes see that she is as fertile as the Nile. She's quite comfortable with her mat, I'm sure.”

Lucretia nodded and smiled to her sister before Naevia helped her up and took position with Ilithyia's other girls who walked behind the carriers. “Gratitude.” She settled herself onto the cushion beside Ilithyia. .

Ilithyia knocked on the side and the slaves started again. “While some may grow to anger at your lateness, I cannot help but be glad. Its dreadfully boring watching naked men eat goat.”

“While some may grow speechless from your generosity, I cannot but speak words of gratitude.” Lucretia aligned herself so her profile and flaming red hair were clearly visible beyond the sheer curtain. Ilithyia was ever herself, a friendly bitch with wagging tail and growling maw, but Lucretia could have kissed her and knowing how so she enjoyed such attentions, Lucretia did so. She pulled away, more than a stray moment longer than a polite greeting between matrons, lip tingling from Ilithyia's playful nip. “As charitable as Vesta you so remain.”

Ilithyia smiled and patted Lucretia's cheek. “Both a burden and a blessing, I assure you.”

The women exited the palanquin as the naked youths were swinging the bloody thongs, cut from the still warm and bleeding goats, while the magisters made their last words. Atop the hill, Lucretia could see the Forum Romanium on one side and the Circus Maximus on the other. Marble temples made them seem small despite the crowd and blaring music echoing down to the merchant wives and peasants below. As if birds of many colors, the highest women in Rome fluttered in excitement as the youths stalked around the altar, more like wolves than boys. The trumpeters stopped as the drummers pushed onward into a frenzied beat as the boys broke and ran.

Lucretia held onto her empty belly with both hands.

Ilithyia shoved her. “Go on, you goose.”

Throwing her hands up to her sides, Lucretia gasped as a boy, bloody faced and wild eyed, struck her down the front with the goat thong. She fell to her knees onto the cold marble plaza, hands out to the sky, the blood crossing her breasts to her belly, crimson soaking into her gown along with the rain. The sky never seemed so clean as that day when she raised her prayers up to Juno in the clouds and down to the she-wolf in the cave. A son to bring honor to his father and comfort to his mother, a son to secure her place forever more, a son to show that she was a lucky girl. Lucretia called on the gods, just one, divine mothers, all that is asked for is one.

Closing her eyes, she composed herself and rose to her feet with practiced grace. She turned and smiled at Ilithyia, holding out an arm. “Sweet woman, gratitude, I feel the lupa running through me.”

“May it quicken to new life. Now, let us beat the mob home, the baths should be ready when we arrive. Glaber is off in Ravenna so you'll have to entertain me while you're in Rome.” Ilithyia took her arm.

“How fun.” Lucretia patted Ilithyia's hand. Despite the auspicious ritual, the Fates could be cruel and that was why she grinned and took a seat in the palanquin. Just as hundreds of roads led to Rome so too were there many ways for a woman to secure a place in this world. Lucretia may not have had luck but she knew how to land on her feet.


End file.
